


Morning Moves

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-15
Updated: 2000-11-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 05:09:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Morning Moves

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Morning Moves by Alison

MORNING MOVES by Alison

Feedback: yes, please to   
Category: L/B slash  
Disclaimer: not mine, etc  
Archive: Unusual suspects, Basement, Ephemeral, Gossamer: anywhere else just ask  
Note: Sort of a companion piece to Surreal's Midnight Musings.

* * *

I've been awake for half an hour now, just watching him sleeping. I love to watch him sleep. He sleeps like a cat, so completely relaxed and yet still so completely himself. The aura of contained energy, sheathed tension which envelops him when he is awake is still there, still apparent in the way he sleeps, as if his whole purpose is bound up in simply being asleep.

As usual he has fallen asleep more or less on top of me, sprawled on his stomach over three-quarters of the bed, pinning me down possessively.

But I like it. I like to feel him so close to me, feeling his breath against my skin, the weight of his body, his pulse, his heartbeat. The warmth of him, seeping into me. It makes me feel as if I belong to him, as I know I do. I love to feel him. On top of me, inside me, his cock inside me, driving me to screaming point and then way beyond. My hands in his hair, feeling it all around me, his breath on my throat, the way he bites me as he comes.

If anyone had told me, a couple of years ago, that I would be sleeping with Ringo Langly, I'd have told them they were insane. But now it seems so right, so inevitable, I look back in amazement that it took us so long to get to this point. Regret, too, for all the wasted years. But the closeness, the trust between us is something that has grown over years. And perhaps it had to be like that, for the friendship and the security between us to strengthen to such a point that we could become lovers. All I know is that he has become as necessary to me as food or drink.

And we have amazing sex.

That in itself was a major revelation. Of course, I'd had the usual tentative experiments guys have, at high school or college with your best friend, just to see what it was all about, but that never amounted to anything much. I guess I thought it was something I'd grown out of. And then, living with Langly for years and years as just a friend, until one night alone together, both a little drunk, laughing, and it just happened, turning from laughter to passion in the blink of an eye - and waking up the next morning to find the pattern of our entire lives had changed, like the patterns in that toy kaleidoscope I used to have as a kid.

It's something I still have difficulty believing sometimes, that I am the lover of another man. And then mornings like today, waking up next to him, knowing I want to go on waking up next to him for the rest of our lives together.

I have a reason, this particular early morning, for being awake like this. I've been waiting for a chance like this for a while now, and I've spent the last half hour gradually inching myself out from under him, infinitely slowly, carefully. I have something to do, something I must do while he sleeps.

The items I need have been hidden in the bedside drawer for an opportunity like this. I carefully lift myself away from him and feel in the drawer for what I need. Prop myself on one elbow, looking down on him.

I feel self-conscious about doing this. He'll find out, of course, but it'll be too late by then. Perhaps I should just ask him, and yet - we haven't been together for that long. I'm not sure - not quite sure yet - how he would react. It's not that he'd laugh, I know he wouldn't but yet . . . it would open up areas we haven't touched yet, areas of emotion and the depth of our feelings for each other. I guess I'm still a little shy about going there.

His face is turned away from me, his hair fanning out over the pillow, hopelessly tangled. His broad shoulders and lean arms, relaxed now across the pillow, marked with faint bruises which I left there last night.

Well of course, I have a few of them myself. I usually have, and I like that too. I like to feel them, evidence of his desire, reminders of our mutual passion, during the day. Sometimes I touch myself, pressing on them through my clothes, reminding myself of what they mean. It feels good.

So, now - cautiously up on my knees beside him, leaning forward to make sure that he is really asleep. Reach over to the drawer to get what I need.

And then I lean forward again and, carefully, so carefully, cut a lock of my lover's hair.

END

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